


Glutton for Punishment

by SunflowerSupreme



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Spanking, Victim Blaming, downright awful child rearing, questionable child rearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Maeglin seems determined to anger his uncle and wants to know exactly where his boundaries are.





	1. Ecthelion - Spit

Maeglin, it seemed, was determined to test his uncle’s limits.

“What has he done?” Turgon asked, looking at Maeglin who looked quite put out to be sandwiched between Glorfindel and Ecthelion. They were not restraining him, not even touching him, but it was clear they had led him there.

Although Maeglin didn’t look sorry about whatever he had done, in fact, Turgon thought he looked rather smug. The lords on either side of him, however, looked exasperated.

“He spat in my face,” said Ecthelion, although to his credit he didn’t appear as angered as most people would in his position. Frustrated seemed to be a better word for it.

“You insulted me!” Maeglin shot back.

“I merely inquired about your tattoos,” replied the Lord of the Fountain, amazingly calm for someone who was within spitting range. Turgon would be amazed if Maeglin got through this without spitting on Ecthelion a second time. “I have never seen anything like them before.”

“You called them exotic.”

“That is not an insult,” Glorfindel pointed out.

Maeglin rounded on him, “You’ve never been called exotic then, have you?”

“No, but-”

Maeglin surprised Turgon by not spitting on Ecthelion, instead, he hit Glorfindel square in the face with a wad of spit.

“That is enough,” the Lord of Gondolin said, standing.

All three of them fell silent, although Maeglin was still seething.

“Maeglin come and sit,” Turgon said, motioning him to a smaller desk in the corner of the room. The Lord of Gondolin had his own desk, large and grand, at the room’s center, but the smaller one often played host to his assistants or Idril. On that day, it was empty and the perfect place to corral Maeglin.

“Make me.”

Glorfindel seemed ready to take him up on the offer, reaching to grab Maeglin’s arm, but Turgon waved him off. “You may leave us.”

Neither of the lords looked pleased about their dismissal, but they left regardless. Turgon waited for the door to close behind them before saying, “Maeglin, come and sit.”

Maeglin stalked past him, pulling the chair from the desk with more noise and force than was necessary and sitting down in a huff. His eyes dared Turgon to say anything about it.

“Maeglin, we do not spit on people.”

“ _We_ should not insult people either, but I see that does not trouble _you_.”

“I will speak with Ecthelion about his phrasing, but that is not what we are discussing.”

“Then you should have that discussion with Egalmoth as well, he called me an oddity at supper last night.”

“Did you spit on him as well?” 

“No. Only in his tea when he was not looking.”

Turgon resisted the urge to point out that there was a reason people did not like Maeglin, and it had nothing to do with his birth. He could hardly blame his nephew for having a difficult time adjusting to his new life, although it was clear he could not continue to indulge him.

“What did your parents do when you misbehaved?” It was a passing thought, one he had not meant to speak out loud, but it slipped out anyway.

Maeglin was quick to answer, “Father would have tied me to the stable wall and bullwhipped me.” As usual, Turgon could not tell if he was being truthful or not. At times it seemed like he exaggerated his stories of Eol because people paid attention to him when he did. Not that Turgon thought Eol had not been cruel, it was just that he preferred to think he was not so horrible. It was almost easier to sleep at night.

“Would you like to see the scars?” He was almost gleeful when he said it, as though challenging Turgon to whip him.

“No thank you, Maeglin.”

Turgon pointed to the desk. “Top drawer, open it. Take out a quill and some paper.” Maeglin ripped the drawer open with no small amount of force and removed the writing supplies.

“Good. Now I expect you to write an apology for spitting on Ecthelion, and one for Egalmoth’s tea as well.”

“Do you not think Egalmoth would be happier never having known what happened to his tea?” Maeglin challenged.

Turgon closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You shall write the apology but that one you will not be delivering. Ecthelion’s you will deliver in person, however.” Turgon was silent for a moment, then he added, "And one for Glorfindel as well. That one you shall deliver when you deliver Ecthelion’s." 

Maeglin scowled. “Yes, uncle.”

Turgon turned his back on Maeglin, sitting back down at his desk, determined to ignore him and leave him to write his apology in peace. He waited to hear the scratch of the quill across the paper, but it remained silent. After a moment of waiting, he said, “Maeglin, why are you not writing?”

“I have no ink.”

“It is in the drawer.”

“You did not tell me to fetch it,” Maeglin retorted, and Turgon was grateful that his nephew could not see the expression he made. “You merely told me to get a quill and paper.”

“Maeglin,” he said, a note of warning in his voice. “Stop being smart and write the letters.”

Maeglin didn’t respond, but he heard the drawer open and a moment later the lid being taken off ink, followed by the scratch of the quill.

The two did not exchange any more words for the duration of Maeglin’s letter writing. Turgon did his best to focus on the missives and reports in front of him, rather than worrying about the boy at the desk behind him. 

Finally, the sound of the quill stopped and Maeglin said, “Uncle, I am finished.”

“Bring them here.”

Maeglin did as he was told, surprisingly, without protest, dropping all three letters in front of Turgon.

The smith watched as his uncle scanned the letters. “Are you going to send me to my room?” he asked.

“I think not.” Although if he did send Maeglin to his room, it would cut down on the amount of trouble he could get it, he also knew about his nephew’s anti-social ways. “It seems, for you, that would be a reward.”

Maeglin's grin was almost frightening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for…. well, Maeglin slut-shaming people and using some pretty foul and discriminatory language. 
> 
> Also, Duilin shouldn’t call himself the Lord of the Swallow because honestly, he’s asking for it.

He almost wasn’t surprised when Glorfindel turned up with Maeglin less than a week later. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had seemingly made it his duty to keep an eye on Maeglin, and, according to what Turgon had heard, he had actually kept him out of a few disagreements.

Judging by their faces, Maeglin had found a disagreement to get into anyway.

Turgon didn’t bother asking, just raised an eyebrow.

“He insulted Duilin,” Glorfindel supplied.

Maeglin took it a step further, telling Turgon exactly what he had called Duilin. “I called him a damnable retard with an ass for a face and said that he is the son of a whore who thought to name himself the Lord of Swallowing.” He said something else, but it was in an Avarin or Sindarin dialect that Turgon didn’t know, though he could easily guess at it’s meaning.

“And why did you did you feel the need to say that to _my friend_?” He accentuated the last two words, hoping that might impress upon Maeglin that he was not just hurting Duilin with his words.

Maeglin, it seemed, missed his point. “Because he was acting like a damnable retard and he has an ass-”

Turgon held up his hand to stop the rant. “For a face, yes I heard you the first time Maeglin.” The young prince snarled.

Turgon sighed. “You may leave us, Glorfindel.”

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower cast Maeglin an uneasy look as he made his way to the door, as though warning the prince to keep himself under control. Turgon doubted Maeglin would manage to keep himself under control, but that was something that he was learning to accept.

The young smith stalked past him, to the desk he had occupied the last time Turgon had scolded him. Instead of sitting in the chair, he lounged comfortably against the desk, folding his arms over his chest. “I suppose you want me to write another apology then.”

Turgon leaned back in his chair, staring at Maeglin evenly. “That does not seem to have made a difference, does it?”

“Are you going to whip me?”

“No Maeglin, I am not. You have not harmed anyone so I shall not harm you.” It was not until later that Turgon regretted his phrasing of that sentence.

He sighed, shaking his head. Maeglin was unlike any youth he had ever met, which was understandable, given that he had experienced things that no child in Valinor had. That didn’t justify his actions, but it explained them a bit. It also made it more difficult to decide Maeglin’s punishment.

“Do you think it appropriate to call someone names?”

“I think it is appropriate to call them what they are.”

“And you truly believe that Duilin is all of those things you said?”

Maeglin watched him, clearly uncertain where the conversation was going. That was fair, it was not as if Turgon knew either. Finally, the smith said, “I think a lot of things about all of your friends. Would you care to hear them?”

“I would not.”

Maeglin decided to tell him anyway. “Ecthelion is is no wiser than Duilin, and yet somehow less attractive. Glorfindel is a control freak who takes pleasure in the humiliation of others. Salgant is a whale who stuffs his face indeterminately with food and cock. Galdor-”

“That is enough Maeglin.” Turgon finally stood, striding toward Maeglin who didn’t flinch as he grabbed the boy’s arm and forced him to stand. “I think it is time we washed out that mouth of yours.”

There was evident confusion in Maeglin’s eyes as he processed Turgon’s words, more so as his uncle pulled the chair from the desk and forced Maeglin to sit in it. Although, by the time Turgon had walked to fetch the bar of soap and walked back, Maeglin had his usual, defiant look back on his face, with no sign of his earlier hesitation.

“Put this in your mouth,” he said, holding the bar out to his nephew.

Maeglin just looked at him. “And if I don’t?” He was clearly itching for a fight.

“Then you may leave my office.”

The younger elf’s eyes narrowed as he processed it. “I could leave,” he repeated, “and you would not punish me?”

“Yes.” Turgon sat the bar of soap on the desk in front of Maeglin, waiting for him to make his decision. “I would tell Ecthelion and Glorfindel that you are no longer mine to punish, as you regularly remind us, you are, by Avari standards an adult.”

He could tell Maeglin was waiting for the catch, his sharp eyes flicked as he considered what Turgon was saying. But, seeming to decide he did not want to spend any time with a bar of soap in his mouth, he stood and walked toward the door.

“Of course, if you are not punished then I cannot forget this.”

Maeglin hesitated.

“No one who can say such things about friends of mine with no remorse or without seeking forgiveness would be welcome in my home.”

“You would take my house from me?” There was, for a moment, a flicker of fear in Maeglin’s dark eyes. It seemed, that despite everything, losing the House of the Mole was something he could not stand to risk.

“No. Your house is yours, I will not take that from you.”

“Then why would I need you?”

Turgon shrugged, settling himself down and picking up the papers he had been reading before he was interrupted by Maeglin and Glorfindel. “My offer stands. I am willing to forgive if you are willing to earn it.”

 

* * *

“You want me to ignore Maeglin?” Glorfindel repeated, narrowing his eyes at Turgon as though debating the elf’s sanity. “Just… let him get away with anything?”

“If he breaks a law I expect you to report it to Penlod, but so long as he continues to merely be childish and difficult, then yes, I will no longer be handling it.”

Glorfindel folded his arms across his chest. “There are some who will not take this decision well,” he warned. “They already think you hold him on too loose a leash.”

“I know.”

“If you give Penlod free reign over him, he will have Maeglin in the stocks by the end of the week, just to spite him.”

“I doubt that,” Turgon said. “Despite all his shortcomings, my nephew has, so far, been smart enough to not break any laws in his quest to annoy me.”

For a moment, Glorfindel said nothing, merely staring at Turgon with pursed lips. “Then I imagine this is some scheme of yours?”

“I would not call it as such.”

“I find myself intrigued.” 

“I told Maeglin that until he accepted punishment for his attack on Duilin that he no longer be my concern.”

“And this benefits us how?”

“Because despite all the airs he puts on, Maeglin will soon chafe for my attention once again.”

Glorfindel considered it. “And so he accepts your punishment and you will once again be in charge of him?”

“Yes.”

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower shook his head. “My friend, when that happens, I will not be certain if he is playing into your trap or if you are playing into his.”

“Maeglin wants attention, Glorfindel. Despite it all, I do not believe he is a masochist. He does not want to be punished, he merely wants attention and does not know how else to go about getting it.”

“I am not so certain as you, but he is thankfully not my nephew, so I shall leave him to your…. Care.”

* * *

The week after his discussions with Maeglin and Glorfindel was one of the longest of his life. He was constantly waiting for something to happen, for either Maeglin to return and ask for his forgiveness, or for someone else to come and report Maeglin’s troublemaking anyway.

For a week, neither happened.

He saw no sign of Maeglin, but the rumors he heard were that the smith had retreated into The House of the Mole and had no interest in coming out. Maeglin certainly made no attempt to regain entry to the palace or the Tower of the King, nor did he arrive at any mealtimes. He did not even make an appearance to pick fights with any of the other Lords of Gondolin.

It was worrying, but as Turgon had expected, it did not last.

A week and a day after Maeglin had stormed out, Turgon arrived in his office to find his nephew sitting at the spare desk. The bar of soap was still there, since no one else had needed the desk, Turgon had left it exactly as it had been.

But Turgon said nothing to his nephew, keeping his back to him as he sat down and picked up a letter to read. Behind him, he heard Maeglin shift nervously.

After several minutes had gone by, Maeglin finally spoke, “I am here uncle.”

“I am aware,” he replied and continued reading.

Maeglin tried again. “I wished to continue our discussion.”

“I thought I had made myself clear, for as long as you continue to refuse to earn your forgiveness I will not grant it.”

There was several more moments of silence, then something shifted. “Am I to eat it?”

Turgon finally turned to face Maeglin who had the soap in his hand and a disgusted look on his face. “I have not done this before,” the smith muttered, looking sullen.

“You do not eat it, you hold it in your mouth.” Maeglin shoved the entire bar in his mouth, staring at Turgon all the while.Turgon nodded. “Now you write your apology.” He paused, then added, “and then you will be forgiven.” That was all it took for Maeglin to start writing, a sour look on his face. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next time they drug Maeglin into his office, Turgon could not help but shout, “What now!?”

Glorfindel almost seemed amused. “To be fair, Penlod punched back.”

There was a bruise beginning to develop under Maeglin’s eye, one that would certainly leave an impressive shiner in the days to come.

“But I punched first!” Maeglin snarled, flashing his teeth dangerously. Ecthelion was with them this time and was restraining Maeglin by pinning both his arms behind his back as the smith struggled in his arms. “And I’ll do it again when this bastard lets me go!”

To his extreme credit, Ecthelion didn’t flinch at the insult, leaving Turgon to wonder what words had been shared on their journey to his office. He was, admittedly, impressed that they’d gotten him up the spiraling stairs of the Tower of the King without injury.

“And why did you punch Penlod?”

“Because he is horrible!” Maeglin shouted, writhing enough that Glorfindel stepped in to help restrain him. “He called my father a murderous monster and said I was fortunate to be so unlike him!”

“That is not what he said,” Glorfindel said calmly.

“That is what he meant!”

Having not been there, it was impossible to tell what Penlod had intended his words to mean because the Marshall of Gondolin had a way of making his words a double-edged sword.

Turgon stood and walked away from his desk, walking closer to where Maeglin was being held.

“Are you going to whip me?” Maeglin asked suddenly, his sharp eyes meeting Turgon’s. “When I insulted Duilin you said you did not whip me because I had not harmed him, but I harmed Penlod, so you must whip me.” 

As loathe as he was to admit it, that was what he had said. “Is that what this is about Maeglin?” Turgon asked, folding his arms over his chest. “Do you want to be tied to the stables and whipped for all to see?”

Maeglin held his uncle’s gaze, ignoring Glorfindel and Ecthelion who were shifting uncomfortably, as though aware they were intruding on a very private discussion. “Is that what I deserve, uncle?”

“No. You are acting like a petulant child and you will be disciplined as such.”

Maeglin did not seem to know what to make of that answer, his face twisting into a scowl. “I am not a child.” He yanked one hand free of Ecthelion, pulling at the neckline of his tunic, flashing his tattoos to Turgon. “That is what these mean.” 

“Perhaps you are grown by Avari standards, but not by ours, and either way, your behavior of late suggests otherwise.”

He motioned to Ecthelion and Glorfindel. “Let him go, he is not going cause any more trouble.” Not now that Turgon had figured out what he wanted at least.

The two released their grip, but grabbed him again as he said, “Perhaps I should punch you.”

“I do not think you are going to,” Turgon replied tiredly, waving his friends away. They seemed uneasy, but left willingly, leaving Turgon alone with his nephew. He had a feeling they were probably waiting outside his office.

“I will meet you in the stables,” Maeglin said, making to follow them, but Turgon caught his arm.

“No, you won’t,” he said, gently leading Maelgin toward his desk.

“You said-”

“I’m not going to bullwhip you,” he said, sitting at his desk and gazing calmly up at his nephew. “I’m going to put you over my knee and spank you like a petulant child. Because that is what you are.”

“I’m not a child!” But Maeglin didn’t run, and the fight he put up as Turgon pulled him forward and divested him of his thick robes seemed to be token at best. Maeglin favored layers in his outfits, and it took Turgon a moment to shrug him out of his heavy shirt, leaving him in nothing but an undershirt and his leggings.

“Bend over,” the king ordered, and Maeglin snarled, but when Turgon reached for him, he bent easily.

He landed the first strike over Maeglin’s pants and the smith barely responded. Three more strikes fell in quick succession, but Maeglin still didn’t seem to notice, his back stiff.

Turgon pulled down the smith’s pants.

Maeglin yelped, but there was nothing he could do as Turgon landed several heavy swats across his backside. He’d already reasoned that he wouldn’t be able to hurt Maeglin enough for the smith to care - if he was used to being beaten with a bullwhip, Turgon’s hand would be nothing - so instead he would have to rely on Maeglin’s private nature and a bit of humiliation.

“Uncle!” he hissed, struggling slightly and trying to cover his bottom.

“Hold still Lomion,” he said, gripping Maeglin’s wrist and pinning it against the small of his back. “Or I will get Ecthelion to hold you down.”

“Don’t you dare,” Maeglin gasped between strikes. He stopped fighting back as much after the threat, only lurching slightly from the strikes.

“You cannot go around picking fights, young one, do you understand?” Turgon asked.

“I didn’t start it!”

“If someone wrongs you, you are to come to me and I will handle it.” He punctuated each word with a strike. “Am I understood?”

“Yes.” Maeglin’s voice seemed slightly strained.

He stopped speaking after that, continuing the spanking in silence. Maeglin took the punishment wordlessly, even as his backside turned a deep shade of red.

Finally, when the discomfort in his hand was too much, Turgon stopped.

Exhausted by what he had done, even if it had hardly been physically taxing, Turgon slumped into his seat with a sigh. To his surprise, Maeglin followed him.

The usually withdrawn youth scrambled to sit in his lap, his knees digging into Turgon’s thighs and his nose disappearing into the king’s collar. Turgon sat perfectly still, uncertain what had caused the sudden shift in Maeglin’s attitude toward physical closeness. He’d hoped to crack some of the walls Maeglin had built around himself, but he hadn’t expected to end up cuddling. The king wasn’t certain what to do.

Maeglin didn’t cry or even sniffle, but after a few minutes he said, “Father always sat with me after he whipped me.” Turgon brought his hand to rest on Maeglin’s back, rubbing soothing circles. “He would tell me that it was the only way to get rid of the Noldo in me and that it was for my own good.”

Turgon didn’t know what to say, continuing to hold his nephew and waiting to see if he had anything else to say. His next words were so soft, even Turgon had to strain to hear them, “That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re going to beat the bad out of me?”

“Oh Lomion,” he whispered, curling his fingers through Maeglin’s messy hair. “Lomion, there is nothing bad in you. You are but a child and children make mistakes.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Maeglin’s hair. “You are forgiven and you are loved.”

Maeglin finally began to cry, and Turgon held him as tightly as he could.


End file.
